


Through the Window of his Storm

by KikiTwinTai2



Series: Love and Lightning [4]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blood and Injury, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 18:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30042591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KikiTwinTai2/pseuds/KikiTwinTai2
Summary: All Romano wanted was to watch the storm. He never meant for this to happen.
Series: Love and Lightning [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607767
Kudos: 5





	Through the Window of his Storm

**Author's Note:**

> This involved the greatest research I've ever done for a fic. As a history student I'm used to doing an awful lot of research, but funnily enough 16th century Spanish architecture hasn't really come up all that much. This is also a lot more angst and possibly OOC, but hopefully it works well enough. Enjoy!

Lightning lit up the sky, illuminating the world in flashes of blue. The child stood on a chair at the window, staring out through the rain-lashed window, the view distorted through the leaded squares. Still, he stood, nose pressed almost flat against the glass, and jumped at each flash, despite telling himself furiously that it was nothing to be scared of. His hands were bunched into tight fists at his side, clenching tighter and tighter each time thunder boomed overhead. Shakily, he took a deep breath and reached out to place a small hand on the cool glass, feeling it rattle with the ferocity of the wind.

A sudden particularly fierce gust sent him reeling back, and his hand slipped across the glass. He wobbled from his place on the chair, and instinctively reached out to try and keep his balance. His hand caught on the metal latch of the window, pulling it out as he fell sideways. Immediately caught by the rain, the window flew out violently to hit against the wall, and Romano barely had the presence of mind to let go and fling himself backwards, or risk falling out of the window himself. He landed heavily on the floor, breathing hard.

Wind and rain immediately assaulted the room as the wind caught the window and threw it open. The noise of the storm, previously confined behind the glass, rose to terrifying levels, and Romano couldn’t hear his own thoughts through the sound of it.

He had to shut the window. Bracing himself against the wind, he pushed the chair firmly against the wall, then climbed up carefully, struggling to keep his footing as he slipped against the leather. Digging his feet in as hard as he could, he reached out of the window precariously, struggling to find the edge. He blinked furiously, trying to see through the water lashing his face. His hair was flattened down on his head, in seconds, even the curl on top that normally stuck up now plastered to his face.

Nevertheless, he tried to ignore it and continued to reach out. His fingertips strained to reach it, his hand grasping on air. Desperate, he rose to one leg, leaning out as far as he dared. It still wasn’t enough. He stood on the top of the chair, battling against the wind, then knelt on the window ledge, keeping one hand clutched tightly to the window frame. Just as his fingers brushed against the wooden edge, a man’s voice cut through the wind, shouting to be heard over the storm.

“Romano! What on earth are you doing?!”

Romano, flinched at hearing his guardian’s voice. Caught between fear and relief, he instinctively tried to turn towards the sound, setting off a chain of motion. His balance was lost as he turned, the hand that had been bracing his weight giving way and sending him crashing down painfully onto the window ledge. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs in a gasp, and his knee scraped against the wall as the chair finally toppled over. He was left hanging precariously against the window, winded and unable to think through the pain and fear.

“ROMANO!”

Spain surged forwards, kicking the fallen chair out of the way and grabbing hold of the boy to draw them both back into the safety of the room. As he did, Romano’s soft, childish skin caught on the rough wood of the window, scraping it open in a long gash. Romano didn’t even notice, collapsing onto the floor and shaking uncontrollably, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come as he tried to draw air back into his lungs. He couldn’t even think, could barely feel as the older nation’s arms drew tighter around him before suddenly letting go to pick him up and set him on his feet. His shoulders were grabbed roughly as he was spun round, hands clenching on the sodden fabric of his shirt as Spain shook him, making his head spin.

“What the hell were you doing, huh? What were you thinking?”

Romano struggled to hear the words, let alone open his mouth to try and answer. Spain continued regardless.

“You stupid little fool. Do you realise how dangerous that was? Do you? Answer me, Romano!”

Romano couldn’t find any words. He couldn’t seem to stop gasping, his body shaking in fear and cold. Behind him, the window whipped against the wall, relentless and insistent. Romano’s eyes followed the movement, transfixed and almost unseeing.

Spain seemed to realise it, since he let go of Romano and walked over to the window. Uncaring of the rain, he reached out and pulled the window shut, then moved the heavy wooden shutter into place for good measure.

The effect was immediate. With the storm shut out, the room was plunged into a dark, heavy silence. Romano's legs shook, and he sank down helplessly to collapse in a growing puddle on the floor. His knee throbbed painfully, and his midriff seemed to pulse in time with his racing heartbeat, sending waves of pain through his whole body. His arm hurt with a white-hot pain so fierce it almost made him retch, blood welling up from the gash and staining the torn sleeve of his nightshirt.

He bit back a whimper, but Spain didn’t seem to notice anyway, instead busying himself with setting the chair upright again and cursing softly under his breath when he saw the water soaked into the leather. Shaking his head, he lit a lamp, making Romano blink as it illuminated the room with a gentle glow and threw their shadows against the wall.

Like that, Spain’s shadow looked like a formless monster, a creature of the storm waiting for its chance to devour naughty children. Romano would be a feast for it, he was sure.

His wet hair was still dripping down his back in cold rivulets, adding to his fear. Romano wanted to hide underneath his blanket and shut out the world, but he was so stiff that he could barely uncurl his limbs, let alone move.

Finally, Spain strode over to him, seeming almost to have read his thoughts as he picked a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around Romano. He didn’t stop there, though, instead rubbing his hands over his arms, drawing a cry of pain from Romano as the fabric touched his still-bleeding arm.

Spain didn’t even look up at him. “I know it hurts, Romano, but you need to get dry, and I can’t see how badly you’re hurt right now. Just bear with it for a minute.”

Romano didn’t see the point in speaking up, even to say how much it hurt, and looked around him room to distract himself.

His bed was big, too big for just him, and covered in a mess of sheets and blankets. The wooden floor was covered by a large rug, scattered with toys. In the corner nearest the door was the wardrobe, a large dresser next to it, with a gilt mirror above. A fireplace stood in the middle, unlit. A low table stood underneath the window, covered in quills, ink, papers and an expensive-looking leather-bound book. A telescope lay on top of some of the papers, along with a fleet of toy ships and a dozen or so little wooden soldiers. A chest stood at the end of the bed, painted a rich red and gold. Altogether, the room was a strange mix of function and opulence.

He couldn’t help a sob of pain as he was picked up and placed on the bed. He drew the blanket around himself immediately, trying to hide his arm. It had almost stopped bleeding now, the blood sticking to his arm and pulling against the skin. Every movement sent shocks of pain through him, and he clenched his teeth so tightly his jaw hurt in the effort not to cry out.

He stared down at his lap, refusing to look up even as he heard Spain’s footsteps move away from the bed.

“I’m going to go and get something for this, alright? You stay put.”

Romano wanted to scoff. Where would he go?

With his guardian gone, the sound of the storm was much louder, even deadened through the layers of wood and glass. Romano drew the blanket tighter around himself, careful to avoid the fabric touching his arm, and stared at the lamp to try and calm his racing heartbeat, taking comfort from the soft flicker of the flame.

The minutes passed, each one made longer by the lashing of the storm outside.

Eventually, Romano heard the sound of footsteps outside the door signalling Spain’s return.

“Alright. I've run a bath for you, but first let me see your arms, Romano.”

For a long moment, Romano debated arguing. He knew that as soon as Spain saw his injuries, he would get angry, and Romano just wanted to sleep.

_Vene_ wouldn’t get yelled at, Romano thought. But then, Vene wouldn’t cause trouble like this. Romano was the troublemaker, the unwanted second-best that no-one wanted to deal with.

He watched dispassionately as Spain poured the contents of the pitcher into the bowl, then added sweet-smelling herbs from one of the little pots. The water steamed slightly, the scent of the herbs rising along with the steam to fill the room.

“Romano. Don’t drag this out. Take the blanket off. You need to get dry, and I can’t see if you’re hurt like this.”

Romano gave up, and slowly drew the blanket away. He shivered as the air assaulted his body, made damp from the relative warmth of the blanket.

He let his arms fall limply on to his lap, determined not to let the pain show.

“Thank you, Romano.”

Spain didn’t sound grateful, but his touch was gentle as he lifted each arm in turn, inspecting the soft skin for injury.

He swore harshly when he saw the blood coating Romano’s arm.

“Why didn’t you say anything, Romano? This needs to be treated immediately.”

Romano shrugged. The pain was fading away by now, or maybe he was just too numb to feel it anymore.

“Come on. You need to get warm, and I need to treat that. You should have said something. Its even worse if you’re too cold to feel it.”

Romano didn’t protest as he was lifted and carried carefully down the hallway, then set down on a chair in the bathroom.

“Don’t move,” Spain ordered as he turned to the counter, setting a row of bottles and a soft cloth down. The pungent smell of herbs filled the room as he uncorked each one and smoothed it over the cloth, readying a poultice for his injuries.

Turning back, he saw that Romano had already undressed, his face expressionless. He got into the bath wordlessly and sat hunched over, wincing as the hot water hit his cold skin and irritated his wounds.

Slowly, he sat back, determined not to relax, but the warmth of the water was soothing, making the pain fade away, and taking his will to resist with it. 

Spain frowned as the bruises already developing on the boy’s stomach from where he had fallen were revealed. He took a soft cloth from the side of the bath and began to gently wash Romano’s stomach and back, careful to keep his injured arm out of the water. Romano was calm now, his eyes drooping as the last of his fight seeped out of him, leaving exhaustion in its wake. Seeing that he was beginning to doze off, Spain lifted him out and wrapped him in a huge white towel.

Romano woke slightly as Spain dried him, hissing slightly as he caught the sensitive curl on the side of his head when he ruffled his hair.

“Don’t complain. This wouldn’t have happened if you had been more careful.”

Romano scowled, opening his eyes and glaring at Spain. “It wasn’t my fault. You scared me. I wouldn’t have fallen out of the window. And it wasn’t my fault I hit into the stupid wall.”

“ **Romano**.”

Hearing the tired anger in Spain’s voice, Romano looked down at his hands, biting his lip. Tears pricked at his eyes. He sighed, too exhausted to keep fighting any longer. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, insincerely. In a final act of defiance, he added, “I’ll make sure to fall properly next time and save you the trouble of taking care of me.”

Spain’s face stiffened into fury. He reached up and gripped Romano’s shoulders, shaking him slightly.

“Why would you say that, Romano?” he asked.

Romano could hear the concern and something almost like fear in Spain’s voice, but he didn’t understand it.

Spain didn’t truly care about him. No-one cared about him. They only cared about Veneziano, the good little nation who didn’t cause trouble for anyone.

It was suddenly too much to deal with, and Romano couldn’t hold back anymore. He began to sob loudly, tears falling down his face. He started choking out words between sobs.

“I-I didn’t mean to,” he cried. “I just wanted to watch the storm. T-then the window flew open and I-I couldn’t shut it, so I t-thought if I j-just climbed up I c-could. Then you came in a-and you yelled at me and it s-scared me a-and I fell. And then you pulled me and it got my arm a-and i-it h-h-hurts.”

His voice dissolved into incoherency, and he hiccupped, gasping for breath.

“oh, Romanito. Is that what you really think? That I don’t care about you?”

Spain drew the sobbing boy into his arms, ignoring his token protests, shushing him and murmuring senseless words of comfort. It worked, slowly, and Romano’s sobs calmed down after a while, allowing Spain to lift him up and into his arms.

Once dry and dressed in a long white nightshirt, and with his arm and knee wrapped in poultices, Spain lifted the sleepy boy in his arms once again. He carried him through the house, stopping not at Romano’s room, but taking him to his own. He lay him down, then walked over to his own, rather large, wardrobe and took out his nightclothes. He stopped with his shirt halfway over his head when he heard a voice.

“This isn’t my room,” Romano muttered sleepily. He looked around, rubbing his eyes, confused.

Spain looked over at him and smiled. “No, I thought you wouldn’t want to stay there. Was I wrong?”

Romano looked away, but evidently decided that he had had enough of fighting, and didn’t answer. He rolled back to lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling, feeling his body sink into the soft bed and making tiredness wash over him again.

He finally allowed himself to relax, and closed his eyes. His breathing soon evened out as he gave himself over to sleep.

Spain smiled to himself as he saw Romano finally quiet, his small hands clutching the fabric of the sheets. He leaned over to press a kiss to the boy’s forehead.

“Sleep now, little Lovi.”

Romano frowned slightly, but didn’t wake. Spain slid into the bed next to him, then drew the covers over them both. He reached out to draw Romano close to him. For once, the boy didn’t struggle, and snuggled closer to Spain, his uninjured hand clutching the man’s shirt. Outside, the sounds of the storm lessened, dying down until the only sounds were that of Romano’s soft breathing and the gentle patter of rain against the window. A hush fell over the room, and Spain let it lull him to sleep, too.

In the morning, they would need to talk about Romano’s deep-rooted worries, but for now, it could wait until the storm, like his anger, had passed.


End file.
